Tag: 100 word story

Remembering how it used to be…

Chris Hall80 Comments

She stands on the hot, hard pavement, inhaling the ozone-laden breeze. Her eyes feast on the tempting glint of lapping waves breaking gently on the crescent of white sand, which circles the foot of the flat-topped mountain rising from the shining city by the sea.

Here in the city, where two oceans meet at the southern-most tip of the continent, she remembers all the summers when the whole world, it seemed, flocked to the beaches where they bathed and frolicked in the clear blue water.

The beaches are empty now.

An army truck rumbles past.

To keep it that way.

Image credit: Laurette van der Merwe

Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity101‘s Three Things Challenge – CRESCENT, WORLD, BATHED

Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – OCEAN

The Mask

Chris Hall50 Comments

She’d always wanted to be the perfect lady, all glossy hair and high-heeled shoes, smiling graciously behind flawless make-up, while people marvelled at the poise of her bearing and her chic couture.

But nature was cruel. The golden-haired baby girl grew into a spotty awkward teenager. There was no extraordinary mutation from ugly duckling to elegant swan for her; no amazing transformation in her teens nor late-blossoming in her early twenties.

And so she became a writer, acclaimed for her literary accomplishments while sheltering beneath the camouflage of the well-turned sentence and gorgeous prose.

What lies behind your wordsmith’s mask?

Image credit: Ava Sol on Unsplash

Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity101‘s Three Things Challenge – LADY, PERFECT, HIGH

Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – MARVEL

What lies within?

Chris Hall69 Comments
photo of an old trunk

Kneeling before the old chest, watching the winter sunlight filter through the dusty window of the attic, I’d paused in trepidation. I’d never been in this part of the house, as my uncle had forbidden it and his directives were not to be ignored lightly; but I’d been driven to explore the unexplained parts of my past and now I’d discovered that the chest contained the final few pieces of the puzzle.

Finally, I’d unlatched the lid and lifted it.

If only I hadn’t. My uncle had been right.

That day I learned that some things are better left undisturbed.

Image credit: Pinterest

Written in response to two challenges:

Di of Pensitivity101‘s Three Things Challenge – PAST, FEW, CHEST

Denise Farley of GirlieOnTheEdge‘s Sunday’s Six Sentence Story Word Prompt – FILTER

Aging Ain’t Easy

Chris Hall12 Comments

the tribulations of an aging star by chris hall lunasonline

Dumbo Olivier III stared at his reflection in the dressing-room mirror. His trunk drooped as he examined the growing number of wrinkles on his once-youthful face.

‘C’mon, Dumbs, this could be your big break.’ His agent waved the new script at him. ‘It’s regular work, Dumbs.’

‘A middle-aged medical examiner in a two-bit cop show?’

‘A show which airs every Sunday afternoon, Dumbs. This is the real deal!’

Dumbo shook his crinkly ears. ‘I’m not ready to be a character actor.’

‘Chicks love older men. Think of George Clooney!’

Dumbo turned to regard his profile. ‘Move over, George,’ he murmured.’

Written in response to a prompt from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #36

The challenge this week was mirror.
Photo credit: litreactor.com

Dumbo Olivier III, The Early Years in Catch a Falling Star

The Chocolate Cake Club

Chris Hall18 Comments

chocolate cake club by chris hall lunasonline

I stare wide-eyed at my invitation. As if I wasn’t already the breaker of a thousand diets.

I do not need any more temptation in my life.
My fingers stomp on the keys like an over-weight middle-aged woman taking out the trash in which she’s concealed the evidence of her failure to stick to salad.

It’s virtual, a celebration for us girls, the ones who can only dream of those lithe bodies with which they once entwined.

Virtual chocolate cake? What’s the good of that?

Are you sure I can’t tempt you? Go on. See how many hits you get.

Written in response to a prompt from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #34

The challenge this week was celebration.

Author’s note: I was so taken with Violet Lentz’s response to this same challenge that this is what I found myself compelled to write. It’s also a little experiment about the magical pull of lust and chocolate!

If you go down to the woods today…

Chris Hall21 Comments

what do you see 14 by chris hall lunasonline

– Hey bro’ what’s up with you?

– There’s a loada trouble goin’ down in the faerie ’hood.

– Like what?

– The Myco Boys are musclin’ in on our territory. Bringin’ in a whole bunch of new ’stools and ’shrooms. Stuff that’ll make your head explode.

– So, what we gonna do about it?

– We’re goin’ on the offensive.

– Doin’ what?

– Look here bro’, I got the seeds of a brand new product. Popweed from the Wealdan Woods. This stuff’s goin’ to blow their minds. It’s super-fast growing too. By next month’s Faerie-Fest we’re gonna have the pretty-wing girls’n’boys eatin’ right outta our hands.

Written in response to Sadje’s What Do You See #14 photo prompt.
Photo credit: Flickr

Don’t look back

Chris Hall14 Comments

Don't Look Back by Chris Hall lunasonline

Look away, my love. Remember it as it was. Listen to the birdsong swelling in a clear blue sky, hear the insects hum, feel the joy of the new lambs dancing in our fresh green fields.

Fix it in your mind. Our little farmhouse with its pretty garden. Smell the lavender you planted by the door, feel the cool breeze on your skin as it flutters the flower-sprigged curtains which you made last summer.

Let us go now, my love. Don’t look back. Let us leave this black and broken land and find a place where we can start anew.

 

Written in response to a prompt from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #28

The challenge this week was damage.

What lies beneath?

Chris Hall23 Comments

Remington Portable Typewriter

The night is still. Down in the village of Little Sidebottom on the Marsh, all is quiet. The streets are deserted and the houses in darkness, even though it’s not yet eleven o’clock. The residents of this quaint picture-postcard village, in the heart of the quintessentially English countryside, are of the ‘early to bed’ variety, although not necessarily in their own beds.

Under the village’s bucolic exterior lies a hotbed of vice, murder and worse.

Who will be the next victim? Will they die by pistol, blade or poisoned cup?

Agatha’s fingers hover over the keyboard, poised for action.

Written in response to a prompt from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #27

The challenge this week was village.

Author’s note
I’m a great fan of Agatha Christie. I recently came across this article about her writing habits: https://tonyriches.blogspot.com/2014/02/agatha-christies-writing-habits.html
I was interested to discover I have quite a lot in common with her way of working.

Those Useful Things

Chris Hall14 Comments

Useful Things by Chris Hall lunasonline

Charity Jones was a collector of things. She started small: buttons and bows, needles and pins, those little bits and pieces a person often needs.

She kept them neatly; jars and tins filled her cupboards.

She had books for cooks and pots and pans, mixing bowls and fancy cake stands. Cauldrons for witches and… well, that’s when it got out of hand.

There were reports in the neighbourhood of eyeless newts and earless bats, headless chickens and missing cats.

It was quite a while before they caught her.

So, beware of little old ladies with sharp eyes and overstuffed cupboards.

 

Written in response to a prompt from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #25

The challenge this week was charity.

Blackout

Chris Hall29 Comments

Dark Lake by Chris Hall lunasonline

The lights have all gone out. Mist closes in, swallowing up the moonlight. Darkness prevails. She throws another log on the fire, flares a match and lights a candle. At least the woodshed is full, the larder too. Her eyes flit about the room: every technological trapping is now defunct. Useless.

She’s more resilient than most, living alone in her little lodge on the lake. She’s just put new batteries in the radio, but no-one’s broadcasting. Empty airwaves.

Cut off. Cut adrift.

She takes up her pen and pulls her notebook towards her. All she can do now is write.

Written in response to a prompt new to me from Susan T. Braithwaite
Genre Scribes Friday Fiction Writing Challenge #23

The challenge this week was communication.